


Falling

by ItsKlaus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Established Relationship, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Song Lyrics, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:15:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22912342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItsKlaus/pseuds/ItsKlaus
Summary: Five years post-war and Draco finds himself still standing in ruins, drinking too much and destroying his relationship with Harry.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 2
Kudos: 75





	Falling

**Author's Note:**

> Hello - it's been about 8 years since I've wrote anything and I've never posted fic in this fandom before. Heard this beautiful song (Harry Styles - Falling) and was inspired...so alas, here we are. Comments/feedback appreciated. :) Thanks for taking the time to read.

_I'm in my bed and you're not here,  
there's no one to blame but the drink and my wandering hands.  
Forget what I said, it's not what I meant and I can't take it back,  
I can't unpack the baggage you left._

_~_

Draco doesn't even have an inkling of what time it is, when he blearily opens his eyes. The morning spring sun has filtered in to the room and a small breeze is breathed in through the window that hadn't been closed last night. The space next to him is empty. Of course it is. He grimaces as the first rememberance of the night before hits him, headache brewing in his temples. He'd drank too much again. Of course he had. He sits up and sweeps the covers off himself, his feet landing on the beige carpeted floor with barely a noise. He reaches in to the bedside cabinet, ignoring the pang in his chest as he fumbles through sleeping draughts, calming draughts, dreamless sleeps. His clumsy hand finally finds the one he's looking for, the hangover vial. He unstoppers it, the small 'pop' sounding unbearably loud in the silent room. He swallows it down in one and then makes his way to the bathroom to get ready for the day. When the heat of the water from the shower hits his skin, it's nice but there's a wrench in his stomach that leaves him slightly breathless, a pain he just can't ignore. He can't remember the last time he had showered in this house alone, without someone else pressed in behind him. He watches soap suds roll down over his marked left arm. It's faded somewhat, like a scroll of parchment left out in the sun too long. The memories don't fade, not even somewhat. Draco allows himself a brief look at the shower shelf, the hideous bright labels of muggle products stare back at him. He swallows the feeling in his throat and then in a lapse, frustratingly sweeps his hands through them. They clatter to the shower floor, a couple of them landing with a thud on his feet. He inhales sharply and then turns the shower off. He can't bear this, any of this.  
  
An hour later he finds himself dressed and sat on the top step of the staircase. He just can't make himself go downstairs. Can't make himself see an empty kitchen instead of a kitchen awash with the smell of cooking and the sound of slightly off-key singing. He keeps telling himself that this will be like all the other times because this is just what they do, that come Saturday night they'll be sat at the dinner table with their friends teasing them. He can't go downstairs though because he knows this isn't like all the other times. He understands last night was the final time, last night was an ending. He swallows audibly and runs his hand through his hair for the hundredth time. He was still just a coward. He was always just a coward. He feels the wards of the house shiver as someone attempts on their floo, there's no rejection though and briefly, Draco wonders, wonders if it wasn't an ending. "Draco?" The voice is female and belonging to Hermione Granger and Draco can't help but to feel so severely upset by that. She steps into the hallway and glances up the stairs, her eyes locking on to Draco's. "Oh, there you are." Her voice is calm but Draco knows. Knows that she knows all about it.  
  
"Harry." It comes out a sob that he didn't mean, the name sounding fragile and broken.  
  
"You've really done it now, haven't you?" He feels a smart remark roll around his tongue but he doesn't have the heart to say it and they're not fifteen anymore. They're not fifteen anymore. Mid-twenties and perhaps, should be long past silly fights and _'this is just what Harry and Draco do.'_ but this wasn't silly and this wasn't just what they do. This was an irreperable mark, much like the one that languished on his forearm, like the scar on Harry's head. Something that just couldn't be undone. Hermione was still looking at him, a look that was torn between being emphatic and being angry. "He's at ours but he doesn't want to see you." She says finally, crossing over her arms. This time he can't bite his tongue.  
  
"I'd figured that much out myself, Granger." There's nothing to it though, no malice behind it, barely any feeling at all. "Why are you here?"  
  
"He..." She hesitates somewhat, before continuing; "He needs some things, clothes, his wand..."  
  
His wand. Draco recalls. He stands up and finally walks down the steps, Hermione moves aside as he reaches the bottom. She lays a hand on his arm but he pulls it away. "Hurry up, then. I've got things to do." Nothing. He had nothing to do. He didn't even have any work for a distraction. "His wand is in the drawing room, you'll find it amongst all the glass he managed to smash." The words fall off his tongue easily but hurt him deeply. He doesn't think he'll ever forget last night, just another addition to the long line of bad choices that turn in to bad memories. He hovers in the hallway and watches Hermione go up the stairs. He can't face the drawing room, still can't make his feet move towards the kitchen. He settles on the dining room, he pulls out his usual chair at the table and sits down. It creaks. It always creaks and Harry always said _there must be a spell that will stop that damned chair creaking_. Draco knows a Reparo would probably do the trick but he never said that, irritating each other was part of who they were. _Irritating_. Not completely destroying each other. Some time later, he hears Hermione come down the stairs and enter the dining room. "He hurt me too but I suppose that doesn't matter. Somehow, that never matters."  
  
"You're both -"  
  
"As bad as each other." He finishes her sentence for her and then shrugs. "Tell him I didn't mean it. Please." He notices the bag she's holding. Harry's tatty old backpack that Draco has been itching to throw out. Harry always wanted to keep it though and Draco will never understand why he would want the constant reminder of the time he spent hiding from snatchers and desperately hunting Horcruxes. If Draco could use a vanishing charm on his tainted arm, he most certainly would. Harry never even used the bag, it had been sat in the closet for months. "His wand?"  
  
"I got it, yeah. It's a mess in there."  
  
Draco made a noise half in agreement and half in upset. "His magic was out of control."  
  
"Yeah. I remember when that used to happen." Used to. Draco had never seen Harry's magic out of control because Harry had such good control of his magic, better than most wizards. He could cast wandlessly, wordlessly and beautifully every time. Draco had made him as distressed as he was during the war days. He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. Hermione is by the fireplace now, the box of floo powder in her hand, she takes some out before replacing it on the mantlepiece. "I'm sure it'll be fine." She says but she doesn't sound convinced and she floos away with a sympathetic look.  
  
The house feels big, silent and Draco hates that because this house wasn't supposed to be that. The manor was big, virtually silent, cold and lonely. This house was always the polar opposite of that, smaller, warmer, louder because _Merlin, Harry was loud_ in all senses of the word. He was loud in the drawing room because he insisted on watching the muggle contraption. He was loud in the kitchen because he loved the radio and singing along, he clattered every pot and every pan, dropped the same plate five times and only bothered to repair it four. He was loud in the bedroom, loud in the shower, loud when he slept with his tossing and turning, his heavy breaths and mumbling. Draco chastised him so much but he'd give anything for those familiar noises, to go back to yesterday morning. _Before_.  
  
 _Draco rubs a towel through his hair, he should just charm himself dry but Harry likes it when his hair is towel dried and Merlin, does Draco just want to give Harry everything he likes and wants. He dresses himself in black tailored trousers and a fitted white shirt, leaving the top button undone. He should attempt some work today, self-employed is no excuse for being a slacker. His hair is still damp at the nape of his neck, he feels a drip run under his shirt and down his spine. He carelessly throws the towel in the direction of the laundry basket and heads downstairs. There's a smell of coffee that's made it's way out of the kitchen and down the hall. Coffee. Coffee sounds really good about now. "Mm, did you have to rush off, I could've gone for seconds." Draco announces as he steps into the kitchen. Harry turns to face him, a piece of toast between his lips and the jar of coffee in his hands.  
  
"Umminarush." Harry mumbles, sliding the jar back into the cupboard. Draco frowns at him but resists telling him not to talk with his mouth full. "I'm in a rush." Harry repeats after pulling the toast from his mouth, he swallows the bit he'd been chewing and then takes a gulp of coffee.  
  
"You are always in a rush, Potter." Draco replies affectionately, he sweeps over to the other man and presses a chaste kiss to the scar on Harry's forehead. "I'll miss you." He mumbles against soft skin before pulling away and picking up his own coffee that Harry had left on the side under a warming charm. Harry smiles and pushes the rest of the slice of toast into his mouth, his fingers trail over Draco's left arm before he walks out of the kitchen. Draco starts a mental timer. Thirty seconds later he hears a clatter and swearing. Five seconds after that he hears the muttering of a spell and the sound of something being repaired. Three seconds further he hears the floo. He smiles to himself at the familiarity of it. Every other day Harry would drop the floo powder pot. He turns to survey the kitchen. Harry had made toast and coffee but the kitchen looks as though a Norwegian Ridgeback had just flown through it. _  
  
How can yesterday feel so devastatingly far away. How could yesterday start like most days but end so horrifically. Draco is still sat at the dining room table when their clock chimes to twelve. He stands up to touch the big hand and at his contact, the clock turns from a muggle one to a wizarding one. The big hand now shows himself and the smaller hand shows Harry. At the ministry. Always at the ministry. How was today just another day for Harry though, how was he not at Hermione and Ron's sat feeling completely destroyed like Draco was? _Somehow it never matters_. Maybe he had been right yesterday after all, in the throws of their fight, when venom was thrown out like sweet-nothings, maybe Draco had been right with what he'd said. Maybe it was always destined to end like this because this is just _who they are_. The other things he'd said though, he hadn't meant them, hadn't meant a damn word but he'd said them, spat them, growled them and his fist had uncontrollably collided with the wall next to Harry's head. If Draco knows anything, it's that you can't go back, can't unsay things, or undo things. Even years after trying to make a new reputation for himself, the Prophet still only used pictures of him from the war, still wrote frequent articles about him, the _Death Eater_. Not him that had inherited the Malfoy fortune after his Father's death and then used most of that fortune to help reparations after the war. He'd completed his NEWTs like everyone else and worked as a freelance potions master. It wasn't good money, the Prophet made sure he couldn't gain a steady number of clients. It wasn't about the money though to Draco, it was just something he liked doing. Fortune and stature had not been a priority in his life for such a long time now. Nothing was better than _that_ fall from grace. Than removing any trace of the old Malfoy life from him, distancing himself as much as possible.  
  
It was easier for Harry. Harry always left a trailblaze of glory behind him. A celebrated auror, a statue of him outside Hogwarts, books about his splendor lining the shelves of Flourish and Blotts, he was the most sought after chocolate frog card, people were speechless around him. Draco closes his eyes and presses his forehead against the wall, his hand lingering on the smaller hand of the clock. Harry was the speechless one last night. After the last lick of acidic words had left Draco's mouth, Harry had stepped back, glass crunching under his feet, he'd blinked once, twice, opened his mouth to say something before shutting it again and disapparating. This was just _who they were_. Draco was jealous and easily hurt and Harry was oblivious and so infuriatingly _Harry_. Draco reacts and Harry doesn't. Draco spoke with his hands, curled in Harry's shirt as he threw him against the wall, his fist against the wall. Harry spoke with a raised voice and a ripple of charged unintentional magic through the room. This is all just _who they are_.  
  
Except it's not. For Draco may speak with his hands but never violently, he may throw Harry against the wall but usually his hands are under Harry's shirt, fingers skirmishing against tanned skin like it's the first time, everytime, while their lips are locked together in a kiss that says a thousand I love you's. His fist isn't usually colliding with the wall, it's normally a splayed hand as he tries to steady himself while his lover drops to his knees and begins undoing his trousers.  
  
This isn't _who they are_.

~

_What am I now?  
What am I now?  
What if I'm someone I don't want around?  
I'm fallin' again, I'm fallin' again  
I'm fallin'  
~_

  
Draco hurts in a way he never has. His skin itches with a longing to go back. Twice he stops himself from flooing Hermione and asking if there's even a chance she has that timeturner from their third year. At just after two, he manages to drag himself out of the dining room. Bravery was something that was always lost on him, it was clear as day why he was a Slytherin, not a Gryffindor. Bravery escaped him, when he was a child and even now as an adult. His hand shakes as he places it on the door handle to the drawing room, he turns it slightly and the door groans as he pushes it open. The carpet is obscured by a mist of glass. Harry had blown out the mirror, the vase that Draco kept meaning to buy Lillies for, the muggle contraption that Harry always watched was shattered too. There were books lying on the floor from where they'd fallen off the shelf, when the energy had hit the room. Draco exhales and crouches down next to one of the books lying open. He brushes some glass off it carefully, before picking it up. He can't help the smile that overcomes him. Staring back at him are the brilliant green eyes he could drown in time and time again, those lips he's kissed a thousand times are upturned in to a smile. He trails a finger over the image, there's a tug in his chest and at that, he closes the book and places it back on the floor.  
  
He stands back up and glances around the room and wonders how it came to this. That five years post war, he was still standing in ruins. Had made Harry stand in ruins, with violence and yelling. The thought tore Draco apart because this thing between them had started so long ago, not long after Draco's trial when he was grateful to Harry for speaking for him, about him. It was only two weeks after his trial that they'd kissed for the first time, it was so long ago. Harry so often told Draco, in the quiet of the night, that Draco had helped to heal him in so many ways. Ways that others couldn't. Draco had spent so many nights tenderly touching Harry's skin, cradling him when he awoke sweating in the night, kissing tears away. Draco is crying. He can't remember the last time he properly cried, he briefly thinks it might have been the night before his trial. He's crying now though. It had been so long and he had tried so hard to change himself, to distance himself from all that was bad. It had been so long and here he stood, still a monster, still something so wicked inside him. The beast inside him that had felt proud at being the youngest Death Eater, the demon inside him that felt a thrill lick through his veins, when Voldemort had wanted it to be him that killed Dumbledore. The devil he would never be rid of because it was a part of him, like the hair on his head, like the magic in his blood. He slides his wand out of his back pocket and points it at the thousands of jagged pieces of glass. He whispers a quick spell, before wiping a tear away with the sleeve of his shirt.  
  
He watches as the room returns to normal, the television flickers a couple of times, the vase wobbles as the final piece slots back into place. Draco lifts his eyes to the mirror on the wall. People were right to speak his name with disgust. After all this time, nothing had changed. Draco resists the urge to cast a curse into the mirror and resmash it. He feels the past years slipping away from him, everything he'd done to change himself, to move on from _what was_ to _what is now_ , all gone because the dragon in him had reared it's head once more and shaken them both to their cores. He packs quickly in the bedroom, fumbles around trying to avoid touching anything that's Harry's, tries to avoid looking at anything of Harry's for too long. This is Harry's house and Draco has no place here. He apparates to a cottage on the outskirts of a small Devon town. The garden is so beautiful and kept like it's the most important thing in the world. A house-elf greets him and leads him to his mother. She stands as he enters the room, her eyes immediately noticing the bag in his hand. She hugs him and says nothing because this was expected.  
  
It had been so long and this was expected because Draco couldn't run from the person he was, no matter how much he wanted to. No matter how many years he spent trying to distance himself. It had been so long and he hadn't managed to distance himself at all. When the grandfather clock chimes 5pm later on, Draco joins his mother for dinner. The house elves have made one of his favourite meals and there’s a glass of deep red wine. He sips it gratefully and listens as his mother starts to talk. She speaks about the muggle garden centre she ventured to on Harry’s recommendation, she speaks about reading of how Harry is due a promotion.  
  
“I’m starting to realise why father had a no talking at the dinner table rule.” He finally speaks out and looks at his mother across the table and she picks up her wine glass.  
  
“If memory serves, he only implemented that rule when you returned from Hogwarts at Christmas, first year and you couldn’t stop talking about Harry Potter.” She smirks and he thinks now he knows where he inherited his own smirk from. He can’t help but feel his mother finding her comedic side is ill-timed at best. He moves a potato from one side of the plate to the other with his fork. “I think I knew, even back then.”  
  
“Knew what?” He answers.  
  
“That somehow Harry Potter would be a conversation at our dinner table for the rest of my life.” He knows what she’s saying but he also knows she’s wrong. A house elf pops in to refill their wine. He waits until it’s gone before speaking again.  
  
“You are not usually wrong, mother. However, in this instance you are, this will be the last we speak of Harry Potter.”  
  
He wants to fall apart and confess, it will be the last time because he can’t stand it. He can’t stand that name and the way it tears through his chest. He can’t stand her speaking of Harry like yesterday didn’t happen. Somehow though, he knows it won't be the last time they talk about Harry over the dinner table. His mother takes herself to bed around 9pm and Draco paces to the spare bedroom around an hour later. It's only when he closes the door that he notices a coat hanging on the back of it. That stupid coat. The one Harry has been looking for since Christmas. He was convinced Draco had vanished it. Draco balls his hands up in the fabric and brings it to his face, it smells so much like Harry that it hurts, he hears a crunch in the pocket and delves his hand inside. The noise that escapes him is part laugh part sob, he brings his hand out of the pocket, clutching a wad of different papers. Receipts. So many of them, muggle and wizarding. Receipts for milk, receipts for Fortescue's, coffee receipt after coffee receipt. _Idiot_ , Draco thinks and stuffs the receipts back in to the pocket.  
  
Nuances. Harry has all these different little nuances that make him _Harry_ , that build him up in to such a beautiful (and annoying) person. Harry has been reading the same book, over and over, for the past two years because he just loves it so much. Harry eats pizza with his hands and laughs every time when Draco uses cutlery. Harry still struggles with his sleep, his wand still under his pillow every night but he always sleeps impossibly close to Draco, their legs all a tangle and their chests rising and falling together. Harry loves watching the muggle television but only listens to wizarding music. Harry breaks the floo pot at least three times a week. Harry kicks off his shoes and then manages to trip over them. Harry is made up of so many different pieces. Pieces that only Draco sees. Harry's body is a tapestry of war scars and love bites that Draco likes to leave in places only the two of them can see.  
  
Draco falls asleep clutching Harry's coat.

~  
 _What if I'm down?_

_What if I'm out?  
What if I'm someone you won't talk about?  
I'm fallin' again  
I'm fallin' again  
I'm fallin'  
~_

Draco awakes and thinks he possibly feels even worse than yesterday. He unwraps himself from Harry's coat and clears his eyes of sleep and tears. He showers, dresses and when he looks in the mirror, he can only see a monster looking back at him. He doesn't join his mother for breakfast or lunch. He spends a little time in the garden before finally facing her. She would want to talk about it today. Draco doesn't. She's sat drinking tea with a plate of finger sandwiches on the table, she's reading The Prophet and Draco sees it straight away. Sees him. On the front cover, as always. Harry's dressed impeccably, his auror robes clinging to him in all the right places, he's smiling and shaking the hand of the Minister. Draco swallows because Harry is smiling and carrying on, like nothing at all has happened. Nothing. The headline reads that Harry has just been made the youngest Head Auror in history. Always making history. "What good news." His mother says and closes over the paper, folding it and laying it on the table. "Will you be celebrating with him?"  
  
There's an undertone to the question and Draco knows it's her way of asking what's wrong. He clears his throat and looks in her direction. "He'll celebrate with his friends, I'm sure of that."  
  
"Draco...you are most welcome here but being here won't solve what ever the problem is." His mother always talks in riddles and skirts around saying what she really means. She means, _you're not a little boy anymore and hiding won't make this go away, I can't make this go away_. Somehow, it always comes back down to him being a coward. Draco sighs and finally sits down, he picks up the Prophet and reads the article about Harry's promotion. There's not a mention of Draco, no where. Draco can't help but to feel a bubble of anger at that, he'd been so understanding about Harry's late nights, about Harry working seven days a week, always rushing off, always busy. He'd massaged Harry's aching shoulders from all the fieldwork, spent hours helping him write reports and it was like Draco had never been there. Like last night had erased all of that. In the article, a reporter had directly asked Harry a question about Draco and Harry had said nothing, changed the subject to say how he's excited to take on this new role. This new role. Did he mean his new role as Head Auror or his new role as being a single twenty-something?  
  
Draco is bitter. The dragon inside blows a flame of fury through him and he stands back with enough force that the chair falls backwards and his mother's tea spills. "Draco," She reproves. "You're angry."  
  
He leaves without another word and doesn't return to the cottage until after night has fallen.  
  
The drinks he'd been throwing back had warmed him from inside out and now he stumbles down his mother's pathway, the anger still rages on inside him and he wants more. Wants to drink until he collapses and forgets everything, just for a while. He clatters through the cottage and falls in to the kitchen, catching himself on a counter. There's a house elf cleaning pots, he ignores it in favour of searching for what he craves. "Can Dibsy be of service to Master Malfoy?" The elf squeaks and climbs down off of the stool it was stood on to reach the sink. Draco bangs his head as he comes out from a lower cupboard, he curses and then unscrews the lid of the bottle of whiskey he's just located.  
  
"Yeah, tell Potter he doesn't look sexy in those stupid robes. He just looks stupid. Stupid Potter. Tell him to get fucked." Draco is so drunk that he can't even speak coherently. He tips his head back as he brings the bottle to his lips, the firewhiskey burns his throat and he hears the crack of disapparition. He looks back to where the house elf had been previously stood. Then he laughs, a slightly thespian laugh, the image of meek little Dibsy telling the great Harry Potter to _get fucked_ is too much. He trips over a stool as he takes another swig of the whiskey and fumbles around in the cupboards for something to eat. A minute later, Dibsy pops back in to the room. "Well?" Draco responds, spinning to face the elf and wobbling, as his vision blacks out momentarily.  
  
The house elf's ears fall back and then Draco notices it's foot. "Mister Potter has given Dibsy a sock." The elf disapparates again and Draco smirks, it was one of Draco’s socks, which frees the elf on a technicality. _That asshole_. Draco is dishevelled, his hair keeps falling over his eyes and he keeps flicking it away. His shirt is untucked and the top two buttons are open, the sleeves rolled up and that awful mark seems to be unfading, looking brighter than ever. His mother enters the kitchen, at the same moment Draco accidentally knocks a vase off the side. It shatters on the stone floor and he stares at it. He's warped right back to the other night and in a fit of rage, he throws the bottle of whiskey at the wall, screaming _fuck_.  
  
"You're drunk." His mother speaks hesitantly and then continues, "Is this still a problem?"  
  
Still a problem. Draco himself is just a problem. Harry had said something similar during their argument. Draco liked to drink, _so what_. He stumbles through the kitchen, his mother tries to catch his arm as he walks past her. He finds the fireplace and picks up the floral jar filled with floo powder, he mishandles it as he tries to get the lid off and it falls to the floor, catching the side of the marble fireplace. It doesn't break but Draco can't help but to fall to his knees, a wracked sob escaping him as he thinks about all the mornings he spent listening to Harry drop their floo powder pot and repair it before leaving for work. His mother, as dainty as she is, pulls him up and takes him to the sofa and holds him the whole night.  
  
When Draco wakes up, his mother is gone and there's a hangover vial and his wand next to him. He gratefully swallows the small potion and uses his wand to charm himself clean, forgoing a shower today. Yesterday's clothes are still hanging off him, his shirt wrinkled from the restless night. He passes through the cottage until he steps outside into the garden. "Good morning, son." His mother says from where she's pouring water from her wand over some of the plants. "I trust you found what I left you."  
  
"Yes. Thank you." His voice is hoarse from last night's drinking and sobbing. "These are lillies, no?" Draco asks as he crouches down next to a bundle of pink and white flowers.  
  
"Yes." She replies, moving over to a small bench and sitting down. "You want to pick them. When you were a boy, you used to pluck all the daffodils, just as they'd bloomed. I'm not sure you meant to ruin them, you just wanted to give them to me." Draco frowns and deciphers her words, _you didn't mean to ruin this, you did it because you love so fiercely, care so much and so is it really ruined at all?_  
  
He hums in agreeance and then looks over to her. "I want to take them to Harry." He does and he has no plan further to that. He doesn't know what to say if he finds Harry at the house, doesn't know what Harry will say but Harry made Head Auror and Draco just wants to do something to acknowledge that, even if it's over, even if it is ruined, he just wants Harry to know he didn't mean any of it, any of that woeful night. His mother stands and uses her wand to neatly cut some of the lily stems, she transfigures one of the off-cuts into a silver ribbon and neatly ties the bunch together. He takes them and kisses her cheek, before going inside to use the floo. He wonders if Harry has changed the wards so he can't come through. Draco wouldn't blame him if he had. The wards allow him through though and his breath catches in his throat. He didn't think it would hurt this much to come home. There's an empty takeaway carton on the dining room table, Draco vanishes it as he walks past. He gently pushes the room to the drawing room open. Harry's there. He's sound asleep on the sofa, lying on his back, one knee bent up, the other stretched out. He has one hand resting on his chest, clutching his wand and the other is hanging off the edge of the sofa. Draco thinks he's never seen something so perfect and if this was a moment a few days ago, he would've felt his heart burst with love but now it bursts with an ache, an ache to change and to take it all back.  
  
Draco drops the lillies into the vase that was broken the other night, he casts a quiet _Aguamenti_ and fills it halfway with water. He spots a quill on the table but there's no parchment. Just those stupid muggle things Harry sticks everywhere.  
  
 _Draco finishes labelling the calming draughts he'd just brewed before making his way out of the basement, upstairs and to the kitchen. He leans against the doorframe and smiles, "I didn't hear you come home. How was wor - what in Merlin's beard are **those**?!" Harry is sticking offensively bright squares on one of their kitchen cupboards.  
  
"Post-It Notes!" Harry exclaims, going back over to his bag that he'd left on the side. He searches for a moment before finding his self-inking quill.  
  
"Post-It Notes." Draco repeats, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow. Harry grins and walks back over to where he'd stuck the notes. He writes on one, _Draco has a nice ass _. Draco smirks and then says "That's crass, Potter."  
  
Harry laughs and looks at him. "They're just little sticky notes for...little notes." He bumbles and Draco just loves him so much in that moment.  
  
"Parchment and a sticking charm too much like hard work?" Draco answers but Harry doesn't say anything, just walks over and wraps two arms around Draco's waist, tucking his chin under Draco's head. Draco uncrosses his arms, slips them out from between them and wraps them around Harry's shoulders, peppering dark hair with kisses. Harry likes muggle things and Draco can't help but to indulge him. "And, how was work?"_  
  
He picks up the quill and then the Post-It Note pad. He writes, _Congratulations, love D_ and then tears it off the pad, sticking it to the vase that he'd just put the lillies in. Harry stirs on the sofa, mumbles something disjointed. Draco wants to wake him, to wrap him up in a hug that says everything, Draco wants to cast a Reparo over the both of them but Draco never did know how to say sorry. He disapparates as Harry rolls over.  
  


_~_

_You said you cared  
and you missed me, too  
and I'm well aware I write too many songs about you  
and the coffee's out at the Beachwood Café  
and it kills me 'cause I know we've run out of things we can say  
~_

It's two days later when Draco next sees Harry. He's grasping a cup from their usual place, in one hand and leaning on a wall outside the coffee shop. There's a cigarette dangling loosely from his lips, Draco sees him inhale before using his free hand to pull the cigarette away and then he exhales, breathing out smoke. Draco never cared for the habit and Harry only did it when he was stressed. Draco hadn't taken the hangover potion his mother had left for him this morning, he almost didn't want to be lucid. He could still feel a low hum of alcohol in his blood and his head felt like it was going to split open at any given moment. They always went to this coffee shop, on a Monday morning at the same time, Draco doesn't know why he came today but then Harry's looking right at him and Draco's feet betray him and walk over to where Harry is stood. "Not here." Harry says quietly, stubbing out his cigarette and vanishing it. Draco would think he's paranoid but knows better. There'll be reporters itching for a photo, for an artcle. Harry's fingers wrap around Draco's wrist and he disapparates them both.  
  
They're back in the drawing room of the house and Draco notices the Post-It Note is gone from the vase. "They're beautiful." Harry notices him looking at the lillies. "Where did you get them?"  
  
"My mother's garden." Draco replies. Harry places the coffee cup down on the small table. "I just wanted you to know I was happy for you. I'm happy for you." Draco makes himself look at Harry. Harry's looking back, eyes sharp, face stoney. Draco's taken back to their sixth year, when Harry used to look at him with such disdain. _Nothing had changed_. Draco subconsciously rubs a hand across his chest where one of the _Sectumsempera_ scars lie.  
  
"You're not happy for me. You said as much."  
  
"I didn't mea-"  
  
"Mean it. Yeah, Hermione said. Are you alright?" Harry's face softens somewhat and Draco can't stand it. Can't stand that they're standing so close, yet it feels like there's oceans between them.  
  
"Would you care if I wasn't?" Draco can't look away from those eyes that he's been lost in so many times before. Harry opens and closes his mouth a couple of times before replying.  
  
"I care." He says quietly and then, "I miss you so much." Draco's heart flickers, hopeful and bright for a moment, until he hears, "But you need to get the rest of your stuff and leave." And if that wasn't enough, then, "I can't be with you anymore. It's exhausting." Draco gets it. Draco is exhausting and if Draco could pack up and walk away from his own self then he would but love was supposed to be stronger than faults. "Don't send another elf to me. I have plenty of your socks." It's so ridiculous. It's such a ridiculous thing to say after the weight of what he'd said previously, Draco would laugh if he didn't feel so utterly devastated. It's like Harry wants to keep talking but has nothing else to say, so something completely inane and stupid comes out instead and it's _just Harry_.  
  
Draco doesn't take anymore of his items from the house, he disapparates to a muggle shop, steals an armful of muggle alcohol and then disapparates again without being seen. He drinks all day in his mother's spare bedroom and incendio's Harry's stupid coat but he's drunk and his magic misses the mark and instead sets the curtains on fire. A house-elf comes to put it out and looks at him pitifully. "Can Elgon be of any other assistance, Master Malfoy?"  
  
"Yeah. Leave me alone." The elf disappears without a word and Draco downs more gin. _I can't be with you anymore, it's exhausting_. Draco was rotten, right down to his magical core. Draco never should have imposed on Harry's life, never should have allowed them to fall in to a friendship, into bed, into a relationship, into living together. Draco always knew, it would end bitterly and it would be all his fault, his stupid fault, him that couldn't control his rage, his drinking, his jealousy, him that couldn't tame the beast that swam through his veins.

~  
 _And I get the feeling that you'll never need me again_  
~

_Draco's lying on the sofa, taking every inch of it up when Harry comes home, holding a bag of takeaway. "I hate it when you read that thing." He comments as Draco peers around the Prophet, Draco shrugs and sits up, picking up his tumbler of scotch of the floor. "And that." Harry's gaze falls to the drink in Draco's hand. Draco shrugs again and stands up, he sweeps over to Harry and kisses him, deeply. Harry loses himself in it for a moment before breaking away. "What'dya get?" Draco murmurs, tugging on the bag in Harry's hand._

_"Curry." Harry replies, leading Draco out to the kitchen. "Yours is weak as piss, of course." He torments, yelping when Draco slaps him on his behind. Draco watches as Harry dishes up the food, thinks he could watch him do mundane tasks forever. Every one else sees Harry do grand things like open Quidditch games and guarding criminals in Wizengamot trials but nobody sees him do mundane things like dishing up dinner. Nobody hears the mundane swearing as he misses his mouth when taking a drink of water and it spills down his chin. Draco appreciates the mundane things because the mundane things are his and his alone. "Hullo?" Harry waves a hand infront of Draco's eyes and nudges him in the direction of the dining room, levitating the plates as he goes._

_An hour later, they're playing a game of exploding snap at the table, their plates discarded to the side, when Harry says, "Robards quit. They're going to promote me, aren't they?" Draco has swapped out the scotch for a firewhiskey, he picks it up, rolls it around in the tumbler and then downs it._

_"Yes. I expect they will." He replies, unsure of how Harry wants him to answer. Harry does this, says things that sound like he wants someone to disagree with him, or as if he's itching for a fight. Draco understands. This is who they are. Harry likes that Draco pushes back, doesn't fall at his feet like everyone else. Draco keeps him grounded. Tells Harry when he's wrong and when he's ignorant. "Really, I'm surprised you weren't hurried to be Head Auror the moment you qualified." He remarks, the drink starting to tingle in his veins._

_"Quite." Harry replies softly, not rising to the bait, before taking his turn at snap. "I hate my job."_

_"Yeah, you do." Draco confirms, before grabbing the bottle of firewhiskey and refilling his glass. "It comes with the territory though, no?"_

_"What does that mean?" Harry's asks, while looking at the half-empty bottle of Firewhiskey._

_"I mean, you're Harry Potter. You couldn't be anything but an Auror, doing good for the wizarding world." Draco catches Harry rolling his eyes. "Well, tell me I'm wrong?"_

_"Stop it." Harry says, pushing their game to one side and standing up. He picks up the bottle of whiskey and turns to walk out of the room. Draco stands and takes hold of Harry's arm, his other hand wrapping around the whiskey. "I think you've had enough. You always get like this when you've had enough."_

_"Like what?"_

_"Jealous. Pathetic. Malfoy." Harry shrugs Draco off but Draco immediately grabs him again. There's a moment that they just look at each other and it's a moment that usually dissolves into them kissing each other, diffusing some of their anger but not this time, this time Harry relinquishes his hold on the bottle and walks out of the room, into the drawing room. Jealous. Harry thinks Draco is jealous but he's not. He is but he's not. He cares that Harry goes every day to a job he hates. Pathetic. Malfoy. Draco almost finishes the bottle of whiskey while stewing over what Harry had said to him. "Why - " The drawing room door swings open with a creak, as Draco falls through it. "Why would I be jealous of you?"_

_Harry looks over the book he's reading. Same damn book he's always reading. "Come off it, that's what it always comes down to." He replies, closing his book over and throwing it on to the coffee table, it lands with a thud and skids until it's half hanging over the edge, it knocks Harry's wand off the table in the process. "You're drunk."_

_"Merlin, no wonder you've made Head Auror with such alarmingly brilliant observational skillls." Draco is still holding the bottle in his hand and he's about to raise it to his lips, to finish it off, when it vanishes. Harry has wordlessly cast a vanishing charm. Draco glowers at him. "Fuck you." He says, his hand gripping the door frame to hold himself steady._

_"Go to bed."_

_"No." There's silence for a moment as they stare at each other. Harry looks frustrated and Draco is too drunk. Always too drunk. "M'not jealous of you. Not of your stupid job or your stupid friends or your stupid statue or your stupid books." He's rambling and Harry's looking at him still, knowing he'll continue because they've been here before but Draco usually tires himself out and collapses on the sofa, he sleeps it off and in the morning, they're back to normal, like the argument was just a bad dream but not tonight, Draco is riled and Harry's just a picture of innocence. "M'jealous that it's so easy for you and you're so damn oblivious, you don't even know." He only half makes sense, he knows._

_"Easy for me?"_

_"You got Head Auror and you're so used to all the glory that you're apathetic about it. Apathetic about getting Head Auror. I'm jealous that life is so easy for you. That you're so used to getting everything so easily. I sit in that damp basement that you still haven't helped me decorate, brewing potions for a few clients and I try so hard to build my client base but I don't get to forget, people don't let me forget, nobody makes it easy for me. Death Eater. That's my name. Not even Malfoy. Just "The Death Eater" and they think you're just with me to try save me because you're just good like that."_

_"Do you think I'm just with you to try and save you?"_

_"Probably." Harry finally looks away and Draco thinks he looks like he's about to cry. "How could you truly love someone so jealous, so pathetic?" Harry does cry, a solitary tear as the light in the room flickers. Draco looks at the light and then back to Harry._

_"I risked my whole reputation when I told everyone me and you were together." Harry voice breaks as he says it. "Risked my friendships, everything. You think I did that just because I wanted to save you?" Before Harry has a chance to react, Draco has crossed the room, grabbed him by his collar and flung him against the wall. Harry coughs, winded by the force of the movement._

_"Your reputation." Draco spits, his fists clenched in Harry's shirt. "Oh, Chosen One! Oh, Saviour! Merlin forbid people don't swoon as you pass them in the street. Merlin forbid you're not handed promotions on a plate. Merlin forbid your reputation is ruined." His voice is mocking and so much like the Draco of the past. "Only it didn't get ruined though, did it?" Draco continues and then laughs. "Even when you're fucking a Death Eater, people think you're being a hero. Saint Potter, taking pity on the little guys." Draco pulls Harry off the wall and then slams him back into it. "Fuck you."_

_"You're right." Harry whispers. "I did want to save you but I couldn't. You're unsaveable." His hands reach around Draco's and try to push Draco away but the fury rips through Draco and he pulls one of his fists away before slamming it into the wall. Harry flinches, his eyes closing for a moment and then he opens them and shouts, "Get off, get off me." The light flickers again before it blows out and then Draco is forced backwards, right as the television screen shatters, the vase explodes and the mirror cracks in hundreds of pieces. The glass falls to the floor like rain and Draco looks around before his eyes go back to Harry's. Harry's breathing heavily and his fists are curled at his sides, he's silent for a moment before he says, "You never thought you deserved to be saved and I stopped trying. I just loved you for who you were." He sounds damaged. "But I'm starting to think you're unloveable too."_

_"I hate you." Draco slurs, and Harry sidesteps towards the door and opens his mouth to speak but closes it again, before disapparating._

  
~

_What am I now?  
What am I now?  
What if you're someone I just want around?  
I'm fallin' again  
I'm fallin' again_  
 _I'm fallin'_  
~

A week passes and Draco falls through the gates to his mother's cottage at 2 am. The iron gates ricochet off the wall as he stumbles down the path. His vision swims and he falls into a rosemary bush. He sniggers to himself and finishes off the bottle in his hand, when he finally manages to detangle himself, he comes face to face with his mother. She has a nightrobe pulled around herself and eyes him, sadness ghosting across her face. "You know," She murmurs, crouching down and trying to straighten some of the rosemary bushes bent branches. "Plants are so delicate, much too delicate for magic." And then she stands again and walks away. He really doesn't know what she means this time, he falls asleep on the garden bench. His mother doesn't leave him a hangover vial anymore after that night.

  
Another week passes and Draco hadn't left the spare bedroom of his mother's house for three days, except to trip his way to the bathroom. He ordered the house-elves to fetch him drink after drink but this time when he asks, the house-elf delicately says that his mother has ordered them to not follow any orders from Draco anymore. He scoffs at this news and throws a glass in the general direction of the elf, it misses completely because he's still burning hot drunk, it hits the wardrobe and the elf disappears without cleaning it up. He muddles down the stairs, falls down the last three and careens into the sitting room, his mother peers at him over her tea and she's torn between motherly love and pity, for the shadow of a man standing in her doorway. She's not dressed in house clothes, she's dressed in going-out clothes and he grips on to the doorframe, to stop himself falling. "Go-going somewhere?" He manages and she puts her tea down.

"Yes. I'm going to see Harry."

The name hits him deep within, he closes his eyes, breathes unsteadily. Harry. Harry who looks so incredibly put-together and beautiful in every Prophet article that's dropped on his mother's table. Harry who is so good at what he does (even if he hates it), Harry who would give anyone the shirt off his back if they needed it, Harry who was kind, gentle, so fiercely loyal, Harry who breaks the floo powder pot, Harry who leaves Post-It Notes everywhere, including on Draco. Harry that he loves like he's never loved anything in his entire life and Merlin, how badly he wants to see him, to hold him, to feel the static between them. He rushes away and only just makes it to the sink before he vomits, knuckles as white as the porcelain that he grips.

His mother doesn't return until late and when he goes to see her, she's holding a box of, what he presumes, are his things. She looks like she wants to say something but Draco doesn't give her the chance. The front door slams behind him and he disapparates to a wizarding bar. Draco is kicked out of the bar later on for being aggressive towards the staff, they said they've called the Aurors to pick him up for being disorderly and he'd laughed at them and said Aurors won't come for someone being disorderly and they'd replied "They will if it's a Death Eater. Who knows what you'll do?" He finds himself falling over on to the wet floor, it had been drizzling most of the day. He grimaces at the pain in his knee and just as he's about to pick himself up, he feels something painful collide into his ribs. Someone hauls him to his feet, their wand pushed to his cheek. Someone else walks towards him. They're not Aurors, he notes, probably saw him in the bar and thought he was an easy target to gain a few galleons. They drag him into the gap between two stores and take the coins he had left in his pocket. They leave him bloody and bruised. Draco brings his knees to his chest, wincing at the pain in his ribs and feeling shockingly sober.

He leans his head back against the cobbled wall, closes his eyes and exhales deeply, everything hurts and he thinks it's not just because he's been robbed. His mind hurts, a haze of Harry and hopelessness. He keeps his eyes closed until suddenly it doesn't seem so dark anymore, when he opens his eyes, his breath hitches in his throat. Harry's stag patronus is standing in front of him, almost as though it's guarding him and then he hears, "Hello?" in that familiar voice, familiar but different because it sounds professional and not the _Hullo_ he's normally greeted with. "Stay where you are." Harry approaches with his wand drawn. "Easy now." He speaks as though he's expecting a fight and Draco realises, Harry hasn't come for him, he's just the one responding to the earlier call from the bar. When Harry's light falls over him, he gasps and drops down on one knee in front of Draco. "What the hell has happened to you?" Harry grips Draco's chin, green eyes burning into silver. "Hell. Nox." He speaks again and then they're in darkness, as both the wand light goes out and the patronus disappears. A strong hand wraps around his wrist and then he feels the sickening sensation of disapparition. They apparate into their dimly lit living room.

Harry drops Draco on to their sofa and Draco groans at the sharp pain that shoots through his ribs. Harry kneels beside him and begins to cast gentle healing charms over him. "Guess I'm not that unsaveable." Draco remarks, avoiding Harry's heavy gaze. "The irony that it was you that came tonight."

"Stop." Harry says quietly. "It wasn't supposed to be me. I sent Ron and his partner home, said I didn't have anything better to do so I'd cover nightwatch." He explains and Draco can't help but to look at him.

"Yeah, well." Draco attempts to sit up and winces, Harry lays a hand on his thigh and Draco tries to ignore it. "I best go."

"That'll still hurt for a few days." Harry says, glancing at Draco's ribs. Draco shrugs. "It's too late to go anywhere, just..." Harry pulls his hand away and stands up. "Get some sleep. I'll be in the dining room if you need anything." Harry grabs a blanket from the armchair and hands it to Draco. He hesistates in the doorway, like he wants to say more but doesn't, just leaves, quietly closing the door behind him with a click. Draco curls up on the sofa, his eyes heavy and he searches the depths of his mind for something he could go and say to Harry to fix this, tries to find a spell in his arsenal to magically restore their relationship, he draws a blank though and ends up falling asleep.

When he awakes, a quick glance at the clock tells him it's only 3 am, he stands up with a stretch and makes his way to the dining room. He smiles at the sight that greets him, Harry is asleep with his head resting on his arms, on the dining room table. There's a half-drunk coffee to one side, several different pieces of parchment are scattered on the table and there's an abandoned quill. Draco steps closer and picks up one of the pieces of parchment. Confused, he picks up another and then another. They're all draft resignation letters. He drops the papers back on the table and then splays a hand out inbetween Harry's shoulder blades. "Harry." It's a whisper at first and then slightly louder next time, "Harry." Harry stirs, mutters and turns his head. "Wake up. You need to go to bed." Harry finally opens his eyes and lifts his head, he blinks blearily for a moment before sitting up straight and rubbing his eyes.

"I didn't realise."

"Realise what?" Draco replies, removing his hand from Harry and instead sitting on the chair next to him.

"How much I missed waking up to your face." Harry smiles at him and he can't help but to return it, can't help but just be hopelessly in love with the man in front of him. "I'm quitting." He flicks one of the pieces of parchment away from him, with a sigh. "I just can't find the right words."

"Words were never your forte." Harry looks at him and Draco feels like his soul is being searched with the weight of Harry's gaze. "Why would you quit?"

"It was something your Mum said. I don't usually get her, she always talks around things." Draco laughs gently. "Anyways, whatever she was saying, I just...you're ten thousand times more important to me than any job."

"Only ten thousand?" Draco remarks but then frowns. "I don't want you to quit your job, that's not what any of...that night was about."

"I know but after the war, all you did was pour all your energy in to me, if I didn't have you, I'm not sure I'd be so put together now but, it was all about me...it's always all about me but the war..." Harry falters, falls over his words and then pins his eyes to Draco's left arm. "The war left it's mark on you too and we've never even had one conversation about what happened to you, the things you saw, lived with...not one conversation." He raises his eyes back to Draco's. "You're right, I was apathetic about becoming Head Auror and that's why I shouldn't be there. I want to be with you. Not to save you but because I love you. I'm sorry I said you were unloveable. You're not, you're stupidly loveable. I want to be with you and if we manage to save you in the process, then hey, better late than never." He smiles that stupid Harry smile and Draco can't help himself, he pushes out of his chair and pulls Harry up out of his and then he kisses him and Merlin, how he missed those lips, how he'd ached to feel familiar arms slide around his waist, how he'd missed those stupid glasses getting in the way and how he'd missed them fumbling up the stairs and falling in to bed.

The next morning, Draco awakes to an empty bed, he frowns, wondering if it was a dream, before his ears begin to tune into the sounds in the house. There is an awful racket coming up the stairs and some delightfully creative curse words coming from Harry. He smiles and props himself up on his elbows as the door opens. "Hullo, breakfast in bed. Appreciate it. Won't be happening again, nearly dropped it several times." Draco's smile gets wider as Harry climbs on the bed next to him and puts a tray down between them. "Post," He says, picking up a thick envelope and passing it to Draco before grabbing a slice of toast. "Open it, you'll like it."

"How do you even know that?" Draco asks, flipping the envelope over and glancing at the seal with interest. "You're not supposed to use magic for ill-deeds like reading people's private mail."

Harry looks mock offended for a moment before picking up another envelope and thwapping Draco over the head with it. "I had one too."

"Hmm." Draco finally opens the letter and reads it three times before he blinks hopelessly up at Harry. "Is this for real?"

"Yuh." Harry replies, a mouthful of toast and his fingers hovering over the bacon. "McGonagall wants me to take up the Defence Against the Dark Arts post." He changes his mind on the bacon and instead wraps a hand around a glass of orange juice. "I wrote to her last week telling her I was thinking about quitting. Your Mum coming over just solidified the fact that I should quit. So, I guess I'm going back to Hogwarts."

Draco glances over his letter again. "I can't accept her offer."

"Why not?"

"Where to start? I'm not in any position to...I'm aching for a drink right now, Harry. I can't."

Harry's face is pained for a moment before he moves the breakfast tray to the floor and shuffles closer to Draco. "We don't have to start until September. We can fix this before then. You'd be an amazing potions master, you can do this, we'll do it together." Draco believes him, believes that this can be fixed, that his shaking hand and his longing for a drink will pass, will fade and that he can be better, do better. Over the next few months, Harry cradles Draco for a change, Draco spends his nights talking and crying. He lapses one night and gets so catastrophically drunk that he can't even stand up and Harry leaves him to sleep it off in the hallway. They spend the summer travelling to different places, lying on beaches and kicking sea water at each other. Draco eats salad and frowns at Harry's grease-laden burger, the only arguments that accrue are which flavour ice cream they share, until they decide to just get one each. They take photos and barbecue with friends and when September comes around, Draco thinks that somewhere between Harry's forgiveness and gentle nature, the nights' spent crying and the beautiful beaches, somewhere he was able to finally unchain the dragon inside him.


End file.
